Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost
But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.
-Matthew 7:14
Everything I craft ties back to the land, aligns with my lineage, and builds legacy. Each project is part of a bigger story — bigger than me, bigger than my family. It is my honor to share what has been passed down through Creative Mountain Mama.
September is always special. It is the month to reap what we have sown. It’s a month of warmth, long days, and quiet preparation. Gardens run over, birds gather their stores, family members gather to help each other can and preserve the bounty we’ve nurtured since spring. It is a time to relish the sun while we can, knowing frost is ahead. Soon the days will be cold and short, and we’ll gather by the fire, watching snow’s first quiet blanket over our land.
September is a month of joy, warmth, and abundance. Plants in the garden stand in full majesty. Those that survived the July and August heat now wear their crowns of blossoms. Peas hang fat on the vine. Tomatoes droop heavy. Corn stalks bow with seed. Marigolds don fluffy orange renaissance hats. The hornworms have taken their toll on broccoli, Brussels, and collards. Yet gourds are forming, basil and mint have been harvested, and peppers reach longer than my arm.
Golden hour is heightened by nature’s display. Mums burst into umbrellas of color, pumpkins rest in groups of threes on the front porch, and our once-struggling dahlias now open wide with a dozen blooms each. Suddenly we’re on the other side of the season, timidly peeking outside each morning with bated breath, waiting for frost’s first touch.
Old Man Winter stirs from his defeat. His brittle fingernails ride on the wind, chilling the sweat of afternoons spent staking tomatoes and picking pests. It feels as though two invisible giants—summer’s heat and winter’s chill—are locked in combat, each uncaring, each willing the other into submission during fall and spring. Man and beast alike are caught in their struggle, enduring the blows and waiting for the turn of the season. Regardless of the calendar, one strike of old man Winter will finally put Summer to sleep until spring comes. Heat or chill. Winter or summer. Seasons of abundance and seasons of barrenness.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” —Ecclesiastes
Here in the Colorado mountains, we know winter is on his way. Living far from town, in the quiet of the deep woods, separates us from many niceties of winter. We stack wood and preserve the garden. I am making soaps and saddlebags, sourdough and beeswax candles. Mornings are slower, with a dash of honey and pumpkin spice in my coffee cream. Long Bible readings accompany the birds as they flutter to fresh seed and splash in a bird bath. Windows stay open to let in birdsong and let in the last of summer’s warmth mingled with autumn’s chill. Candles burn in the background, poured from beeswax and tallow with coffee extract to scent.
The soap shelves are stocked—Coffee Tallow and Oats & Honey, ready for the October Handmade Market at Ginger and Baker. Yarrow hand salve, harvested from our property and slow-extracted in oil, is ready too, alongside my calendula face serum, made from dried flowers steeped in jojoba oil.
Leather bags are being bound, carved, and finished ahead of the December holiday rush. Each is hand-sewn so that even if one stitch falters, the whole will not unravel. It’s one way I try to ensure each piece I make can be passed down through generations. I take the verse, “Make for yourselves purses that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys” (Luke 12:33), more literally than perhaps it was meant.
In my kitchen, sourdough starter bubbles alongside my new grain mill. I ran rice through to make flour and clean it, then milled my first hard red wheat berries into fresh flour. Mixed with warm water, it’s rising now into my first loaf. I’ll share the results on social media so you can follow along.
As September comes to a close, I am grateful for the abundance of this season and prayerful for what’s ahead. Thank you for walking with me down the narrow path, the one less traveled but worth the journey.
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Praying for your families’ abundance as we step into fall.